Hiding From Reality
by serenitymeimei
Summary: She shouldn't have been surprised, not after visiting the same place, seeing the same man, and walking the same winding path every day for the last three weeks. Set between 4x02 and 4x03.


**Disclaimer: **If Fringe were mine, we would have seen Live blatantly hitting on our Olivia by now... just sayin', it would be totally hot. (see profile for a REAL disclaimer)

**A/N: **Written for LiveJournal's Mini NanoWriMo Day 4 Challenge!

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><p>Olivia hadn't lied when she said that she'd been seeing a man in her dreams, not exactly, she just hadn't told the whole truth. Yes, she was seeing a mysterious man every time she closed her eyes, but she'd left something out. Something important. She was there with him every night, holding his hand as he led her down a maze of hallways, but it wasn't <em>her<em>.

It was Olive.

Gasping, Olivia's eyes blinked open with a start. The rapid thumping of her heart was almost familiar by now, too familiar, and she automatically began taking deep breaths to try and calm herself. Letting her head fall back against her pillow, she willed her muscles to relax as she focused on the feeling of soft sheets beneath her.

It had happened again.

She shouldn't have been surprised, not after visiting the same place, seeing the same man, and walking the same winding path every day for the last three weeks. Each time ended with the same result, the both of them standing in front of two doors with two wooden signs that her four year old mind couldn't translate. What she did know, was that one door looked extremely well cared for. It was clean, with properly oiled hinges and one of those old fashioned, wrought iron doorhandles that looked like they belonged in a castle from one of her storybooks. The other door, however, was covered in cobwebs, its sign crooked and just barely hanging on by one nail. Whenever she thought about stepping closer to get a better look, it would cause a ball of anxiety to roll around in the bottom of her stomach, one that would continually follow her into the waking world no matter what she tried to stop it.

Instead, she chose to focus on the man, the one with the startling blue eyes. He was a comforting presence, tall and sturdy, his palm large and warm wrapped around her tiny one. When it first started, she'd tried her hardest to pay attention to her surroundings, disappointed to find only a few blurry, framed photographs and a few house plants lining the passing walls. They were full of outlines of people that looked familiar, but she'd eventually stopped trying to place them and reluctantly gave Olive what she wanted most- to look up at man, to study him- and after that she'd been unable to see much else.

Truth be told, Olivia wasn't quite sure why Olive was compelled to trust him, this stranger. It was something about the way that he looked at her, the sincerity, the love, in his gaze. It gave her the impression that they'd met before, comforting her and making her uneasy at the same time. She would have remembered meeting him, she was sure of it.

Olivia rolled over onto her side, hugging a pillow tightly to her chest. This last dream had been different, though.

This time the man had talked to her.

As they stood in the large foyer, the one with the two looming doors, she had been startled when he knelt down next to her. Olive had been studying the wooden clock hanging on the wall, curious as to why the two hands were always pointing to the same spots, when he gently turned her and took both of her hands in his own.

"_Olivia? You have to think before you choose this time. It's important."_

Her little brow furrowed, looking back toward the doors, _"I don't understand."_

A smile bloomed across his features as he cupped the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek, _"You will."_

She'd frowned, stumbling over her own feet when he nudged her forward. Olive wanted desperately to go to the door on the left like she had so many times before, to take the safe way out, but despite the growing bad feeling she had inside she decided to heed his advice. Taking one careful step after another toward the right, her blood began chilling to an icy frost. She ignored it, pressing onward until she stood right in front of it. A few seconds passed, time spent watching the door uneasily like she'd been expecting it to reach out and bite her, but she'd been surprised to find that it was beautiful. It needed a little bit of cleaning and love, but there was intricate pattern burned into the grain, one that she had seen before.

Olivia felt herself begin to tear up, the early morning sun warming her back. She hadn't been expecting what happened next.

Little Olive had gathered her courage and reached out to touch the doorknob, gasping when a flash of yellow light flowed around her like kelp swaying in the sea. She'd been frozen in place, terrified, turning only her head until she could see the man standing right where she'd left him, encouraging her to continue. The metal warmed beneath her hand and suddenly the the photograph hanging on the wall a few feet away came into focus. It was of herself, her older self, Walter, and the man smiling goofily at whomever was holding the camera. Clearly, they knew each other, and knew each other well. She just wasn't sure how.

She felt like she going crazy.

After that, her dream had blurred. She remembered running toward the door on the left as quickly as her tiny legs could take her, not caring that she'd been ignoring the man's protests behind her. The second that the door had slammed shut she'd woken up, just like before, but this time she couldn't shake the niggling feeling that the man was real.

Olivia's cellphone beeped, startling her out of her stupor. Reaching over, she sighed and slid it open to check the text message. It was from Broyles, they had a case.

Rolling out of bed, she headed toward the bathroom, yawning as she started her morning ritual. It was only twenty minutes later, as she was about ready to walk out the door, that she decided to grab her old sketch book on a whim. If she could draw a picture of the man and run it against all of the FBI databases, maybe she had a chance of actually seeing if he existed, that he wasn't just a figment of her imagination.

She had to start somewhere.

**End.**


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